He cried
“waste, waste”
when the sun set

as his watch
extended like time
into the small hours

he shouted
in groups, whispered
alone

barked curt
names to silence
canine voices.

it all became
a blind and half-drunk
hypocrisy

with his sermons
delivered naked
at dinner parties

to faces that swim
like salmon, upstream
distorted

he wakes bedded,
naked, his lined face
wallowing

in last night’s
red wine that’s
ruined his pillows

his dinner jacket too,
has battle scars
befitting a regimental do

05/02/2006

Author's Note: http://www.benevansphotography.com/poetry/poetry.html

Posted on 05/02/2006
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